Breaking Glass Coffins
by smolder
Summary: She wanted to be needed again - for something other than an image. A pretty picture painted in stark relief: hair of a ravens wing, ruby red lips, and skin as white as snow. (Megara/Snow White, one-shot crossover)


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Hercules and Snow White are owned by Disney.  
Prompt: _So, there are quite a few female characters who appear rather sheltered, whether it's from isolation or over-protective parents or both...Then there are female characters who have experience with relationships and/or seem confident in their sexuality...I'd love a female character who is sexually experienced and confident paired up with a female character who isn't sexually experienced and is naive about relationships._

* * *

"You alright there, Princess?"

Snow White winces inside and tries not to let it show - she can feel herself helplessly blushing just from the other woman's presence already and doesn't want to make a bigger fool out of herself. She knows that having such Emissary's from the gods as the great hero Hercules and his beloved Consort is a blessing - but it has become a mixed blessing for her.

She had thought to calm herself and spend the day in the forest (she has never truly grown to be more comfortable anywhere else) since her presence wasn't truly needed for the talks. Snow knew that she was only expected to make an appearance beside her husband at the banquet tonight. She was the "fairest" after all, she was only necessary to be _seen_.

She pushed down the wave of bitterness that thought always brought - because she used to be _needed_. She used to cook and clean - laugh and sing and dance and cry. The dwarves had loved her; loved her not because she was beautiful but because she was _their_ Snow White. And she loved them, loved them _all_ and missed them more each day. And she missed that life. Missed the dirt under her nails and the calluses that had disappeared from her hands after these many weeks. She was a Princess, had her true love and happily ever after.

But it felt more like a trap. Like a lie.

She wanted to be needed again - for something other than an image. A pretty picture painted in stark relief: hair of a ravens wing, ruby red lips, and skin as white as snow.

Looking at Lady Megara leaning against the tree in front of her she wished fervently that she tanned.

It probably wouldn't make any difference though. Realizing abruptly that she had been staring the whole time her mind wandered she tried to smile and murmur an answer, hoping it would suffice. She didn't really remember the question anymore but the nobles all preferred when she demurred anyway. So Snow bowed her head and cast her eyes down to where her hands were clenched in her skirts.

The _dwarves_ always cared about her opinions. So alike yet so different, they often had heated conversations amongst each other and she was often enlisted to moderate them. They listened attentively to her and respected her. They had never told her to hold her tongue as she was learning it necessary to do here - with them no ones voice was less valid than anothers. And Snow did not think herself necessarily _stupid,_ but she did not understand how this castle in which she lived now was more civilized than that old little cottage.

Again, she tried to push away the thought. It was difficult though.

She kept her eye down but she heard movement. She failed not to picture the woman walking, the way here body flowed that had left Snow wide eyed the first time she had seen her.

Snow White was beautiful. Meg was - _sensual_.

She thought that the right word. It felt like it fit - seemed to match the way her very gown caressed her, the way she couldn't stop her eyes from moving along the curves of her body when she cocked her hip.

Snow swallowed hard and watched as two sandaled feet stopped directly in front of where she was sitting. She had the odd urge to reach out and touch that exposed ankle. Run her fingers up the leg...

Meg sat down in front of her, crossing those long elegant legs and abruptly shutting down her previous train of thought. But having her so close made it hard to think of anything really.

"Are you sure your alright, Snow?" she asked seriously.

And all she could do was stare because _this_ was part of the problem.

As much as she often escaped in to the woods to calm herself of her anger over her current life, it was Meg - or rather the way she responded to the emissary of the gods that had her running off today.

After all she understands her place with the Prince. She thinks of glass coffins as he thrust inside her - watches his entranced face, the same look he had when she first opened her eyes after his kiss. He doesn't _really_ love her, he never _knew_ her. But her loved the perfect girl he made up in his head to go along with her voice and face. And she supposes that is _something_ - maybe more than most royal marriages have.

But what she doesn't understand is how the way Meg looks at her makes her body hum with strange energy. How that slow smirk can make her feel like she is _melting_ inside.

Meg leans forward and she automatically backs up, the other woman steadily follows her movements - that smirk growing until Snow is trapped. A tree against her back and a well endowed body, she has practically memorized with her eyes now, pressed up against her front.

Her eyes dart down automatically before she breathes in sharply and looks away. She is never going to cease blushing _ever_ again. (And she will never forget the image of Meg's breast pressed against her own.)

The other woman chuckles and it is a deep husky sound that plucks a chord inside her and leaves her quivering like a harp string and helplessly seems to pull her eyes back to the other woman's gaze.

Meg is looking at her like she is prey - and Snow isn't sure she wouldn't mind being eaten.

She blushes hotter at the thought and looks down again, forgetting the forbidden view, and must yank her gaze back up.

"Such an innocent little lamb; how do I keep finding such treasures?" Meg seems to ask rhetorically. Then, cupping Snow's check she brings her head back around and kisses her.

And she feels like time has stopped, like she has ceased breathing.

Snow _didn't_ realize she was crying though until Meg broke the kiss and started stroking her hair. When she opened her eyes the other woman looked worried - her entire bearing had changed from sexual to comforting.

"I'm sorry," Snow said, trying to find the words to explain. "It's just - magic favors men," it was blurted out with a giggle and then she felt like someone had cut her strings; and she collapsed into Meg's support.

"Don't I know it," the other woman murmured, stroking her back.

"Can I pretend?" she asked abruptly backing out of her hug. "Can I pretend that that was my first kiss instead? No stepmother, or Prince, or spell, or coffin. Just you and me in the forest."

"Go right ahead," Meg said but her flippant tone was paired by gentle hands smoothing her hair behind her ears.

Snow sighed at the touch leaning back into the support of the tree again. She knew she was acting erratically - that Meg probably didn't know her entire background - but this entire experience was confusing for her. And she had so little to go on.

So she closed her eyes and breathed in deep, trying to get her barrings at least a little bit. She easily recognized the smells of the the forest - dirt, grass, the musky scent of her animal friends that had visited her earlier, the brook a bit aways as well. And she smells Meg too, something spicy and as exotic to her senses as the forest is familiar. They mix together and become altogether new - both comforting and exhilarating at the same time.

Her next move then is any easy one.

She opens her eyes pulls Meg closer for her second kiss.


End file.
